


This City Needs You (Not As Much As I Do)

by goldenicarus



Series: X/MCU [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Universe - X-Men in the MCU, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Black Panther (2018), Wakanda, i wrote this instead of my essay, kurt/wanda can honestly be seen as romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenicarus/pseuds/goldenicarus
Summary: Anon asked: I'm curious how Wanda and Kurt know each other in your AU?An explanation, set shortly after "I Don't Like To Pretend That I Could Be Your Friend"





	This City Needs You (Not As Much As I Do)

There's a demon in Sokovia.

At least, that's what Pietro heard.

Wanda wasn't one to believe in superstition. Ghosts and demons: they were villains of a child's imagination, the Devils our eyes create in dark, sightings and rumors twisted as they pass from lips.

Pietro falls victim to fascination, insisting the stories are true as Mihai claimed he saw it among the painted windows of the local chapel.  Wanda is not a child; she knows her world is one of miracles, but demons are not a piece of it.

There are more tangible evils to worry about, anyway.

~

She finds it hidden in the shadow of a statue.

She nearly misses the movement, her focus torn from the sea of emotions which do not belong to her: the anger and fear of protest as she's shoved aside to make room for more signs and chants and demands for change.

When gunshots ring out as the men in riot gear aim towards the sky, her eyes follow the bullets as the drop back to the Earth; harmless. The top of the church pulls her attention when smoke rises from the brick - it's dust, she first believes. A stray bullet which hit the stone of the building. However, the body which crouches at the edge of the ledge to watch the havoc below has her re-evaluate.

Her rational piece of mind tells her it's the optical illusion of light feigning the appearance of a silhouette.

Then _it_ sees her, the hellish glow of yellow widening as it realizes it's been caught. And it's gone, vanishing in the dark.

Wanda doesn’t sleep that night.

~

Sokovia was a beautiful country before the bombs dropped.

From what little she can remember of childhood, it was a peaceful world; green fields Pietro raced her through, slated roofs they could access to sit and watch the stars appear. A house with two floors, holding four smiling faces that felt like _home_ and _safety_.

It's been hard to find such a place after an explosion left a hole in her world.

Sokovia is better during the day - it's easier to get food and avoid patrols **,** if one’s careful. The sunset brings danger, even if one knows all the hidden pathways and how to avoid the riots. Pietro would likely have a lecture prepared if he was aware she was out far after the pinks and oranges left the sky. But she has to know; she hadn't seen the demon since three nights ago. Try as she might, she never catches it during the day. It's nocturnal, she hypothesis. There's only one way to test it.

She's never stepped foot in the cathedral. She's wandered past on the way to Shabbat at the synagogue a block away. Given the ancient, decrepit spirit the holy building possesses, she expects the inside to be of similar tone. Not for everything to be so... _bright_.

Candles light the halls, freshly lit as the wax had just begun dripping down the stick. The moonlight leaves colorful patterns on the wood floor, glossed by a religion unknown to her. She's admiring the stained windows when there's a quick motion caught in the corner of her eye. When she turns to face the source, the space is empty.

_"It is dangerous to wander at night."_ A voice scolds. It's not grating or harsh, as she expected a messenger of hell to sound. It's deep and smooth and human. It comes from above, on one of the pillars near the altar.

_"You speak Romanian?"_ She asks the vision.

_"I speak many languages."_ She thinks it smiles, eyes cocking with it's shadowed head, _"Why are you here?"_

It’s curiosity feeds her own, and Wanda steps up to the altar. _“I didn't know if you were real. I came to see.”_ She waits; she watching it, it watching her. She asks, _“Why are you here?"_

It's eyes wander upwards, around the circular ceiling. _“It's safer than outside.”_ It answers.

“ _I didn't mean_ here.”

It makes a noise close to laughter. Devils shouldn't know joy. _“To help."_

_"Help?”_ She repeats. _“Demons don't help.”_

The being disappears from the pillar, and Wanda worries she's scared it off until the voice is behind her, leveled: _"I am not a demon. Just a man."_

She squints into the darkened corner, barely making out its silhouette. _"Why does this man hide?"_

_"Fear."_

_"You don't have to fear us-"_

_"Not my fear. Yours."_

_"I am not afraid."_

_"Not yet."_ It moves closer towards the candlelight, yet not enough, _"I do not wish to scare you."_

_"You won't."_ She speaks with confidence masking her worry. No, she corrects. It's not her nerves she feels; they're too rapid, around yet not within her - the sign of her gift in action. Not _her_ fear, but it's.

It hesitates, debating whether to cross their worlds - to bring hell into the church’s light. When it does step into the dim luminescence, Wanda gasps not out of terror but surprise.

_Just a man._ Yes, an extraordinary one.

The blue of his skin is striking: gentle yet demanding of attention. Sharp cheekbones shape an otherwise soft face, black hair curling above a golden gaze - not blazing like hellfire, rather a simmering candle. Neither move, keeping a careful distance between each other.

Wanda speaks first, once she's found her breath. “ _I'm_ Wanda Maximoff.”

It - _He_ smiles, and the sensation of agony dissipates to relaxed bliss. “Kurt Wagner.” He steps forward, into the invisible boundary they had, and extends a hand between them. Wanda’s own limbs feel as if they were lead, difficult to raise and greet the strange man before her. Kurt’s grip keeps her grounded, strong and consoling. _“It’s late. You should get home.”_ He tells her; he does not let go.

_“And if I want to stay?”_

_“Then, I will have to leave.”_

She has many questions; many, he makes clear, he cannot answer. She knows his name, his age, the origins of his accent. But, he does leave their conversation shortly thereafter, the same way he had entered: a billow of black smoke.

When Wanda wanders home in the dark of that night, she finds the atmosphere comforting.

~

Kurt returns to Sokovia six more times that year. Save for his second visit, they find each other in different situations. In the church’s sanctuary, an alley’s corners, at the border of the city, always with the dark.

She takes to calling him _diavolul meu albastru_. He takes to calling her _vrăjitoare mică_.

She learns what he is: mutant, a person born with extraordinary gifts. She learns she and Pietro are of his people.

Their meetings stop on her behalf, when a man named Strucker offers to save Sokovia with their aid.

She wishes she hadn't exchanged whispered vows with an angel for screaming prayers to a devil.

~

There was demon in Sokovia three years ago - hidden away in crevasses and pathways, or blending with a chapels’ monsters and winding tree branches. He was searching for someone; Wanda didn't know, then, it was her.

She didn't know that their midnight meeting wouldn't be their last.

She didn't know she would end up here, at the shelter he calls _home_.

Though Ororo told her she was welcomed to stay she still felt like an intruder, watching each step she makes. As if she's too loud, she’ll face dire consequence. It’s one reason she stays in comfort of the room, with a too-soft bed which reminds her of the one Tony granted at headquarters.

Even still, Kurt seeks her out every day. He worries too much, she thinks. She’s fine - even if she isn’t, it should not concern him. Yet, it's routine now. She wakes up, considers if she's hungry enough to face royalty (she never is), then she’ll sit by her window to watch the children outside play, or practice her abilities, or ignore every negative thought, emotion, intuition which comes to mind until she hears the inevitable, soft knock at her door.

Some days she catches him playing with the kids outside before he comes up, or notes Shuri’s voice outside the barrier before the tap. But Kurt remains the constant variable each day. Kurt and his mask.  

She hates the image inducer; she has only seen _Kurt_ in brief moments since her rescue. She hasn’t been presented an instant like the church, where she could take in every shadow, detail, ghosted expression. She only mentioned it the day he brought her to Wakanda:

“I don’t like to wear it,” He spoke in murmurs, as if talking aloud would expose himself, “it’s for Ororo’s sake. Even if that were not the case, the Accords would stop me.”

Wanda didn’t press.

~

Kurt had been gone all yesterday. Wanda was not aware until it was Ororo who knocked on her door to bring her breakfast, then lunch, then dinner.

“He went with T’Challa to get Nakia.” She explained, “They will be back tomorrow.”

For nearly a week, she’s chosen to be alone. However, that day was the first she’d felt lonely.

He plays with the kids today, even lifting a young girl to spin. Wanda can hear her delighted shrieks from the window.

She settles against the frame of the bed once he’s out of her sight, counting the seconds until she hears the beat of his steps in time with her breath. The door opens with a jerk of her wrist after the first knock, a practicing trick. The facade greets her.

“Finding Nakia took longer than anticipated.” Kurt apologizes for no true reason; it’s to make conversation.

“She is a spy,” Wanda can’t help but tease, “I would hope it was difficult.”

Kurt stifles a chuckle, gently shutting the door behind him. She makes room for him at the end of the mattress. “T’Challa will be crowned King, soon.” He says.

“I’ll try to be there.” She lies with a smile. Kurt laughs; the breathless kind, with no real humor.

“Actually, I need to tell you that you can’t be there.” He explains, “It’s sacred. Outsiders don’t belong. I can’t go, either.” He takes place on the bed and she shifts to be besides him. “Though, I was hoping we could use the day to our advantage.” He reads the question upon her face before she can find the words: “I don’t ask why you stay in here. It’s not my place to pry. But, I want to show you Wakanda. We won’t be bothered during T’Challa’s crowning, you won’t have to hide.”

_Ironic,_ She bites back, _that you should scold me about hiding._

She does not speak, allowing a beat to take Kurt in - the notable distance he keeps, the way he holds his head somewhat low, the way his fingers trace around his inducer like rosary beads. Even here, in the dark of her room, he tries to conceal. When she reaches for the watch and turns the glass surface, he doesn’t stop her from breaking the illusion.

"There you are." She says to blue. It earns her downcast eyes and a hidden smile. He places his hand over hers as it rests on the inducer.

“Remember the night we met?” He asks.

She nods.

“Do you know what my first thought was when you wandered into that church?”

She shakes her head.

“You must have been one of the bravest women I’d ever seen.”

Wanda has always had a gift; a childhood power enhanced with Strucker's experiments. She still contains her primary mutation: the ability to _feel_ others, sense their emotions. She’s aware of Kurt’s, now - pride, and empathy, and sorrow.

“I must hide myself, Wanda.” He smiles regardless of his sentiment, “You don’t.”

He removes her hand from his wrist, twisting the inducer twice in the opposite direction so the disguise may return. It occurs with good timing: Shuri’s voice carries down the hall, Kurt’s name on her lips. He’s gone from Wanda’s side and at the door in a beat.

Wanda’s met Shuri twice: after Steve had taken off and she was medically treated, then three days afterwards when Shuri had to seek her out and question her abilities as she was introduced to the young girl’s lab. Kurt had been with them each time, first for Wanda then himself. Shuri had wondered if their peculiar mutations were connected.

Wanda doesn’t know if all of Wakanda is aware of Kurt’s form, but Shuri is - she had humbly bragged about being the one who continued to update Kurt’s inducer. Wanda hadn’t missed the interactions the two shared during those fleeting moments, playful and kind. Like siblings. It left her chest feeling cold.

The teenager rounds the door frame, excitement brimming her eyes. “I need you to teleport for me.” She says, leaving details and explanations to the imagination. Wanda doesn’t hear Kurt’s vocal response, for the smile he wears speaks louder volumes. With a slight nod, she’s gone.

Kurt doesn’t follow directly after her - he looks Wanda’s way first, expression turned apologetic. “It’s rude to keep a girl waiting.” She warns. Kurt laughs at that.

“Come find me.” The command sounds more like a suggestion, half of a longer offering: _come find me so we may explore, so we may talk, so we may reconnect_. He’s gone before she can give a solid reply. She’s thankful, for she did not have one yet.

It will take her one hour to make a decision; it will take her two to act upon it.

 

There was demon in Sokovia. Now he haunts Wakandan streets.


End file.
